


Into Waters Deep

by Demenior



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fjord-centric (Critical Role), Flower Crowns, Gen, Symbolism, good is not nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:08:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demenior/pseuds/Demenior
Summary: Fjord is a multi-faceted character. This is an attempt to explore all of those faces. From being an acolyte of Uk'otoa, to the charismatic face of the Mighty Nein. As a champion of the Wildmother, and a little half-orc who never knew what it was like to be wanted.1) Uk'otoa makes a move. Fjord readies for battle (but he's not alone).2) Fjord may be good, but there's darkness in his heart. Other people can feel it.
Relationships: Fjord & The Wildmother (Critical Role), Fjord & Uk'otoa (Critical Role)
Kudos: 46





	1. They're Coming for You

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will be entirely unrelated, so, I'm not going to put up tags and warnings on the story as a whole and rather just keep those to individual chapters. Hopefully that way I don't clog up tags!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: vague descriptions of death, drowning and dismemberment. Nothing that we haven't seen in Uk'otoa dreams already.

Fjord dreams. 

He’s standing, out on the ocean, not a ship in sight. The surface is calm, the skies are dark. A yellow moon hangs overhead. There’s a lighthouse far in the distance, but it’s light can’t reach him here. He feels tired, like he’s been drugged. His eyes are heavy, and all he wants is to sink into the depths below. 

He can feel it creeping up over his feet-- his feet are bare, where are his boots? Fjord reminds himself that he’s sleeping in his home in Xhorhas. He doesn’t wear boots to bed. The water climbs up to his ankles, and Fjord is ready to fold in on himself, to sleep again, and--

_Fjord!_

The lighthouse flashes, a bright star on the horizon. 

The light inspires something in him. Fear. He's not supposed to be here, where the light can't reach.

All at once the grogginess leaves his bones, and Fjord throws himself forwards into a run. He’s strayed too far, or maybe he’s been called away-- he’s unprotected. He's too far from shore.

The moon turns, following him, and in its center is an inky black chasm. 

The sky lights up with stars-- not stars-- one by one the hundred, thousand eyes of Uk’otoa open onto him. 

_Watching_ , the god hisses. 

The water is choppy now, and grabs at Fjord’s feet. He trips, stumbles, but he does not fall. To fall is to drown. To drown is to be caught again. 

The great serpent thrashes his body, rolling waves taller than Fjord himself. Fjord runs. He runs and he runs so hard his legs ache and his lungs burn. The eyes have him in their sight, and the lighthouse is too far away. It glows, beckoning him to safety. He’s too far from the light here. She can’t save him. 

He can’t outrun the storm, not alone. The waves catch him, and Fjord fights to stay above it, but he’s dragged under. 

Fjord drowns quickly. It’s familiar, he almost thinks. The water is painfully cold. He struggles against it, to reach the surface, even though he knows he’ll never make it. He chokes, opens his mouth, and water fills his lungs, fills him. His veins turn to ice. The yellow eyes open here, with the sky becoming sea and the sea becoming sky. It’s all water. It’s all the ocean. 

It fills his body with a dread that Fjord hasn’t felt in a long time now. The salt stings his skin.

 _Return_ growls the great voice. 

An eye large enough to fill Fjord’s vision opens before him. Thousands more surround him. The horrid body of Uk’otoa writhes in the dark, almost unseen save for a flash of scales. 

Fjord feels fear in his chest. Fear enough to kill a man. Who is he but one mortal, one small, insignificant orphan, in the full attention of a god? 

A flicker of warm light, again. From above. A reminder. He’s not alone. 

Fjord musters himself. Recalls the terror and the courage it took to do this back at the forge. He can feel the scar tissue on his chest from the wound he carved into himself. 

“No,” Fjord snarls.

He’s assaulted with images. The cloven crystal. Avantika at the temple, Fjord with her. His heart beats faster at the sight of her, and he feels sick for it. Fjord sees the crystal unlocking the first seal. He sees himself unlocking the second. 

He sees the distant village, the site of the third. 

_Waiting_ , Uk’otoa rumbles. 

The cloven crystal that Fjord holds inside of him burns. It’s cold, like an icy heart at the core of him. A reminder of what he almost became. 

“Keep waiting,” Fjord hisses. 

He feels something coil around him. And this is familiar. This threat, this pain, this is what Fjord knew power to be. He’ll be killed soon, and death means release here. 

_Reward_ , Uk’otoa says. 

Fjord almost laughs at that. Does the god truly think he can win Fjord’s favor? 

“There’s nothing you could give that would make me release--”

And new eyes open in front of him. Made of the water itself, Avantika manifests into flesh and bone. There’s a bruise around her throat from where the Plank King broke it. She silences Fjord with a finger to his lips.

“The reward isn’t for you,” Avantika says, a wry smile on her face, “not anymore.”

 _Reward_ , Uk’otoa reminds them.

Fjord’s aware of another body in the water. And a third. A fourth. More faces in the dark, eyes seeing through the all-seeing serpent. 

He sees Sabien.

He sees Vandren. 

_Reward_ , Uk’otoa tells his loyalists. They all see Fjord’s face and take it to memory. The one who walked away. The one who holds the final key. The one keeping their lord sealed away.

Uk’otoa doesn’t kill him this time. He lets his acolytes descend and rip Fjord apart to dig the crystal out of his body.

* * *

Fjord wakes in a panic. There’s seawater in his lungs, and he barely leans over the edge of his bed in time to throw up. He hammers at his chest, coughing and sputtering until all he has left is salty spittle. His body aches from the violent repulsion, and the phantom touches of Uk’otoa’s unkind touch linger. He can feel hands on his body, and quickly checks himself to be sure he’s all in one piece. The feeling of being ripped apart lingers like a bruise. 

He can’t feel the cloven crystal in his body, not like a physical thing. When he reaches into his magic, or into his connection to the Wildmother, he can feel it like a weight to hold him down. But now, in this moment, he _can_ feel it, and he presses a hand to his chest like he might find some distended form of it under his skin. There’s nothing, but the sensation is that of _things_ writhing under his skin and over his bones. The crystal answers the call of its master, or perhaps of those who are looking for it. 

_They’re coming for you_ , a woman whispers, worried, into his ear. Her breath is hot, and spills over his bare shoulders and up his neck. Fjord sits upright, and summons his sword in alarm. Avantika’s phantom face is on the edge of his thoughts. 

He is alone in his room. 

He catches his reflection in the enchanted blade, and pauses in surprise. 

He’s been crowned with a thick weave of brambles and thorns. Long cactus spikes, and deep, overwhelming weed roots. No flowers, no soft bouquet of sweet smelling things. The message is clear. There is a fight coming, and Fjord will need to endure, to outlast. It’s a brutal, foreboding promise. 

The Wildmother is with him. 

Fjord thinks of shrike birds pinning their prey to thorns. He thinks of sharks patrolling the deep. Lions with faces covered in gore, and cattle bones bleached dry in the sun. Nature is majesty and glory, life and sweetness, and it is also brutal and harsh.

Uk’otoa brings pain. He thinks that fear is the way to victory. 

The Wildmother is here with Fjord. She cannot carry his burdens, but she will fight with him. And they will have to fight. 

Fjord reaches up and tentatively touches the crown, to see if it’s truly there. He cuts his finger on it. He smears the blood between his fingertips, and then touches the Wildmother’s token in thanks. 

There will be a fight. And Fjord will meet it, fierce and savage.


	2. First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just because he's with the Wildmother doesn't mean Fjord's a completely different person. 
> 
> Also, I really want there to be some lingering consequences to carrying the key to the Final Seal of an Evil (demi)God's cage inside your body.

"Just this way," says the mage, laying out all the pleasantries for Caleb. They get much better reception these days, now that Caleb is powerful enough to be of notice.

"Thank you," Caleb says, and leads the way into the study. 

The rest of the group follows suit. Fjord trails at the end. He got distracted looking at some of the spell books and items on display. He's had a weird feeling ever since they came in here. His skin feels tight, like he wants to scratch something he can't itch. 

Caduceus lumbers in through the open door, and Fjord glances over his own shoulder as he follows. Does he feel like they're being watched? 

A hand on his chest stops him.

"Friends only," the mage says, and there's a challenge in his eyes. Fjord hasn't been the target of harassment for his racial traits in some time, so he finds himself surprised to find it here.

"Your magic," the mage says, and looks critically at Fjord, "there's a darkness in you, and I don't trust it." 

Fjord settles back on his heels. He wants to argue. He's a paladin of the Wildmother now. He's turned his back on Uk'otoa. 

And yet… he knows the cloven crystal is still within him.

"It's basically scar tissue," Fjord says pleasingly, "it's not a problem."

The mage smiles, though it doesn't meet their eyes, "I'd rather not risk it. And the study is warded against evil. Thank you for your understanding."

Fjord drops his voice, hopefully the others won't hear him, as he leans in to growl, "It's not a problem _now_. But it could be."

There's momentary satisfaction at how the mage's smile tightens, how Fjord can see the tremor in their knuckles. They're afraid. And just for a second, it feels good.

Fjord steps back without breaking eye contact, and folds his arms across his chest.

"I'll make myself at home," he says.

The mage grimaces, and declines a final comment. They close the door behind them.


	3. Not Good at Sharing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love when Fjord occasionally drops his insights that leave other people stunned. Especially when it comes to ultimate troll Caduceus who lives for out-weirding people.

“So your whole family worships the Wildmother?” Fjord asks one night. They’ve forgone sleeping on the road and bought some rooms at an inn. Caduceus is in the middle of removing his armor, and Fjord is perched on his bed while he unlaces his boots. 

“Yes,” Caduceus says. 

“Did that ever… get difficult?” Fjord inquires. 

Caduceus can’t quite understand what he means by that. It must show on his face. 

Fjord looks a little embarrassed to have to elaborate, “Just… all of you, together. All talking to her. Did she have favorites? Or would she only speak to some of you? What if two of you wanted different things from her, how did you handle that? How did  _ she _ handle that?”

“Oh,” Caduceus says, and considers it, “well, I’ve never thought of it like that. It’s never been a competition, from me at least. If I wanted the Wildmother to send someone to hide all of Clarabelle’s hair ribbons, I would usually just do that myself.”

“But as followers, surely some of you were better at it than others,” Fjord observes, “the Wildmother must have had those she spoke to more. She can’t have wasted time with all of you.”

“We were very good at sharing,” Caduceus assures Fjord, “and I can’t speak for her, but I’ve always found the Wildmother to be patient and loving.”

Fjord huffs a laugh, like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing.

“I’ve never been very good at sharing,” he admits, and he lays down on his bed now that his boots are off, “the last person I shared with, I got her killed.”

Caduceus can recall Avantika’s death all too well. And the days leading up to that, how she and Fjord circled each other like hungry wolves. It had been obvious they would draw blood from one another, one day, but until then they’d been content enough to let sex be their violence. 

Fjord chuckles again like he’s said something funny.

“Thank you for being honest. Goodnight,” Fjord says.

Caduceus wonders, only after Fjord has rolled over and put his back to him, if this was a threat. He doesn’t think Fjord would be out to threaten him. But perhaps Fjord is right. He doesn’t know how to share. 

Caduceus has seen Fjord coach Beauregard on how to be more approachable, and less aggressive with people. So far she’s making great strides in her conversational skills. Perhaps, if Fjord wasn’t just threatening him, maybe Caduceus should start coaching Fjord on  _ not _ sounding like he’s going to kill them all in the dead of night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjord has a funny relationship with devotion. It used to mean 'who would be the last one standing?' and now he's trying to understand it as 'we're all in this together'. Give him some time, this is a confusing switch.


End file.
